I had a strange experience walking through the toy aisles of some of America's Favorite Retailers last weekend while shopping for Christmas-based flotsam and jetsam, and I'm not just talking about the recurrent mauling by crazed, glassy-eyed zombie shoppers who more or less thought nothing of knocking my skinny frame out of the way in pursuit of any swag with some combination of the words "Hannah" and "Montana" on it. (Seriosusly, what is it about the word "sale" and god-awful flourescent lighting that turns people into vengeful, lawless vampires? I swear I saw at least one person chewing on a ripped-away human arm in there, but that might have just been all the Aqua Dots I was chewing on).

Jeff Vrabel

I had a strange experience walking through the toy aisles of some of America's Favorite Retailers last weekend while shopping for Christmas-based flotsam and jetsam, and I'm not just talking about the recurrent mauling by crazed, glassy-eyed zombie shoppers who more or less thought nothing of knocking my skinny frame out of the way in pursuit of any swag with some combination of the words "Hannah" and "Montana" on it. (Seriosusly, what is it about the word "sale" and god-awful flourescent lighting that turns people into vengeful, lawless vampires? I swear I saw at least one person chewing on a ripped-away human arm in there, but that might have just been all the Aqua Dots I was chewing on).

No, walking through the toy aisles in search of something for my nieces and nephews, as well as a few replacement Ewoks for my personal collection (and don't you sit there judging me), it occurred to me that everything was extremely, eerily familiar, as though, hypothetically, no one in about two decades had come up with a novel new toy line idea, unless you count Bratz, which as near as I can figure are basically Barbie dolls with dead eyes, disquietingly high-cut shorts and freakshow body image standards.

No, if you were newly arrived on the planet and basing your entire cultural knowledge on toys, you'd be forgiven for thinking it was 1985: Everywhere you turn, there's "Star Wars" action figures, "G.I. Joe" characters (many, I noted with no small degree of satisfaction, of the exact same mold as the ones I used to obsessively collect as a youth), Barbie dolls (many, I noted with no small degree of satisfaction, of the exact same mold as the ones I used to obsessively collect as a youth), Cabbage Patch Kids (OK, I did not collect Cabbage Patch Kids, but only because we were too poor), Transformers, My Little Pony. Some are getting new-world updates; there's a Death Star that transforms into Darth Vader for some reason, and G.I. Joes now come in a few different sizes, giving the impression that some of your action figures are embroiled in a battle against a race of smaller G.I. Hobbits (a totally unfair advantage, needless to say, particularly when it comes to the martial arts).

But in the 20-some years since I was into collecting this stuff (well, five-some when we're talking about My Little Pony), is it entirely unreasonable to expect that someone had made a new toy idea or three?

Now, true, the dearth of new ideas is nothing new around these parts, particularly if you've been to any movies in the past 20 years, unless you're one of the select few souls for whom the phrase "Voltron movie" actually does something to your anticipatory glands (editor's note: You do not have anticipatory glands, but if you did, they would be near the duodenum).

But even in that weird space between nostalgia and marketing, there seems to be an irrational emphasis on the former. Two things are possible here. 1. Toy companies in the mid to late 1980s reached the absolute zenith of human engineering achievement in the specialized category of collectible plastic toys, and no further advancement is possible unless someone develops a wormhole into a dimension governed by He-Man, or a less popular dimension governed by Thundercats; or 2. Everyone's plumb out of ideas, and you might as well use the old toy molds and templates anyway, because there's less of those being sent anywhere where they'll be completely painted up with lead.

Perhaps I'm reading too much into this; perhaps these are just really strong, relevant brands that stand the test of time. Or perhaps toy companies are banking on nostalgia-crazed thirtysomethings trying to find some small comfort in the insane world of parenting, with its constant rain of toy recalls, changing rules regarding cough medicine, pre-kindergarten tutors and Internet fears, buying the same crap we played with when we were kids, back when we didn't so much have to worry about which vaccinations are thought to cause autism as much as we did how Snake Eyes and Storm Shadow were going to infiltrate the Cobra Terror Drome (answer: the hidden panel on the back right side. Everyone knows that).

Jeff Vrabel is a freelance writer who sold most of his massive old "Star Wars" collection in garage sales for quarters and dollars to people who are probably now using the profits to do things like buy Facebook. He can be reached at www.jeffvrabel.com. Also, if you happen to come across a slightly beat-up X-Wing Fighter with the words "Vrabel" scrawled in purple crayon on the bottom, please send it to the paper.